


Proving It

by sunspot (unavoidedcrisis)



Category: Leverage
Genre: 5 Acts Meme, Angry Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unavoidedcrisis/pseuds/sunspot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forgiveness doesn't always come easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proving It

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 5 Acts January 2011. Beta'd by maskedfangirl.

"Don't speak to me," Hardison said. There was an edge to his voice that Eliot had only heard once or twice before. It was not a good sign.

"C'mon, I --"

"Seriously, I don't want to hear your voice right now."

Eliot crossed his arms over his chest and glared out the window while Hardison drove. He figured if Hardison was going to be a bitch, so was he. It was a very tense car ride.

They got out at the address they were supposed to be checking out and it turned out to be a very dead end. Literally. It was an empty lot with some kind of freaky, desiccated bird skeleton lying on the sidewalk in front of the chain link fence.

"Fucking beautiful," Hardison sighed, throwing up his hands and turning back towards the van.

Eliot took a few steps towards the fence, peering through the links, looking for who knew what. "So, you're giving up just like that? You don't want to take a look around? Typical."

He heard Hardison coming, of course, but he was curious just what exactly he thought he was going to do, so he didn't brace himself or turn around. He was not expecting to end up with a face full of chain link when Hardison shoved him.

Eliot spun in an instant, grabbing Hardison by the wrist and collar and slamming him into the chain link, holding him there with his knee between Hardison's legs. "What the hell," he snarled.

"I'm still mad at you," Hardison said, wresting his arm free. "So don't pretend --"

"I said I was sorry, asshole!"

The seedy part of town was empty of meth heads and cheap prostitutes until well after dark, and the sun was only just beginning to set. Neither one of them bothered to keep his voice down, even inches from each other.

"Saying sorry doesn't cut this time, Spencer. Not when it's the fifth damn time."

Eliot made a noise like an angry animal and pushed himself away from Hardison, not meeting his eyes. Hardison knew it bothered him, so he kept staring.

"You know that I'm sorry."

"I'm not sure of anything when it comes to you, man," Hardison said, and he meant it. He straightened his shirt where it had bunched under Eliot's grasp.

"Nothing?"

"Look... I like you. But you make it really fucking hard sometimes. If you want to be with me, then be with me. If you want to be with bar sluts and little blonde honeys, then go be with them."

Eliot didn't speak right away, but when he did he turn around and pressed Hardison right back into the fence. "It's not going to happen again," he promised. Hardison spent a moment trying to figure out if he was really telling the truth or if he just wanted out of the fight. Not that Eliot looked for opportunities to get out of fighting, most of the time.

"Good."

"Good."

"I think you should probably let me go now," Hardison said, trying to convey lightness in his voice. Eliot's eyes had gotten darker in the last thirty seconds and it was having multiple uncomfortable effects on Hardison.

"Never heard the term 'kiss and make up'?" Eliot shifted his weight and brought one arm up across Hardison's chest, pressing him back until Hardison felt the chain link biting into his skin through his tee shirt.

"I _am_ sorry," Eliot muttered, pressing a wet kiss to the corner of Hardison's unmoving mouth. "Gonna prove it."

Hardison shut his eyes against the dizzy, rushing feeling of almost immediate hardness. "Still mad," he reminded Eliot (and maybe himself a little bit).

"That's okay. Encouraged, even." Eliot kissed him again, harder and more insistent. Hardison blamed the pressure on his chest from Eliot's arm for cutting off air to his brain. That's the only reason he would open his mouth to Eliot's tongue; he was clearly not thinking straight.

And if that wasn't bad enough, Eliot unzipped Hardison's fly and took his dick with a firm hand. Hardison's head flew back against the fence and it rattled his brains around. Eliot's teeth were on his neck, working in a rough tandem with his hand.

Hardison's fingers scrabbled at Eliot's arms, digging his nails in and shoving at him. Eliot's didn't budge, of course, but Hardison felt better for doing it. With one more lingering bite to Hardison's lower lip, Eliot let him go and took a half step back. Hardison slumped against the fence.

"You --"

"Shut up," Hardison groaned, reaching out blindly. He caught one hand in Eliot's hair and dragged him back in for another kiss. He changed his mind at the last second and shoved him down to his knees as firmly as he could. It didn't even remotely work, but Eliot acknowledged the message with a quirked eyebrow. Instead of acquiescing, he palmed Hardison's cock again, rough and quick.

"Prove you're sorry," Hardison choked out, pushing Eliot downwards again. Eliot relented and dropped to his knees. Hardison didn't have a chance to catch his breath before Eliot's mouth was around his cock, sucking wet and warm.

Hardison tangled one of his hands in Eliot's hair, because he knew it drove him crazy, and threw the other arm over his eyes. Eliot growled when Hardison tugged his hair, the vibrations traveling up and down Hardison's spine and making his knees weak.

It was fast and noisy and messy, Hardison pulling Eliot away at the last moment and coming on his chin and down his shirt. Hardison smirked as the sharp edges of his orgasm faded away and he was left in the triumphant afterglow. "Okay," he said, tucking his dick away and straightening the front of his pants. "I believe you. You're sorry."

Eliot got to his feet, swiping the back of his hand across his face. "You forgive me?" He frowned when he realized he had nothing to wipe his hands on except his jeans or his already-sticky shirt.

"Oh, you haven't quite earned that yet."


End file.
